


Perhaps

by bravest_person_in_Wonderland



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Enjolras Is Bad At Communicating, Gen, Grantaire Rants, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Pre-Barricade, They Actually Talk About Things, bossuet is a good friend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 22:01:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29142648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bravest_person_in_Wonderland/pseuds/bravest_person_in_Wonderland
Summary: There was a tone in Grantaire's voice, a rather familiar tone to any who cared to listen, when he directed his speech to Enjolras. It was admiration, a bit of irony, and, if one was listening very closely and knew him well enough, longing. For what, I hear you ask? For Enjolras. That which we lack attracts us, it has already been said, and Enjolras was the embodiment of all that Grantaire was lacking.
Relationships: Enjolras & Bossuet Laigle, Enjolras & Grantaire (Les Misérables), Enjolras & Les Amis de l'ABC, Grantaire & Bossuet Laigle, Grantaire & Joly, Grantaire & Les Amis de l'ABC
Comments: 4
Kudos: 5





	Perhaps

**Author's Note:**

> aaaaaah ok so this is a fic I wrote back in November while reading the Brick, and I originally intended to wait to post it on Barricade day, but today I pounded out something completely different that I like better for a Barricade day project, and I figured I could post this now.
> 
> pardon the initial wall of text, it's just R going off on one of his Rants™️, I promise my grammar is better in the rest of the fic lol. 
> 
> also I'm gonna say it now: I personally don't ship ExR. I know I'm in the minority with that, and I mean... I acknowledge that there's something between them, which is up to the reader's interpretation, and I just am fascinated by their canon relationship (or lack thereof) without adding shipping to the mix. so yeah. idk. hopefully you'll all still like this, hehe.

"...you, Marius Pontmercy. You believe that Bonaparte, that dishonored magnificence, was in fact, contrary to the opinions of most of this society gathered here and certainly that of our glorious chieftain-" here Grantaire gave a slight bow of the head in the direction of Enjolras, whose arms were crossed as he waited for the other man to finish his soliloquy. 

"-A respectable man who did much good for this country of ours, France. That is your belief. Enjolras is full of belief. He believes that the future will be bright if the people can only make it that way. He believes in you, all of you, and the good you can do. He may or may not believe in me-- evidence suggests that I am perhaps the one thing he does not, and likely cannot, believe in. Ultimately, he believes in France. Now onto our dear, wise Combeferre. Combeferre believes in everything, and nothing, all at once. That is different from me; I simply believe in nothing. To have beliefs is to have a weakness. To have beliefs is to be shackled to them, and my dear friends, I must tell you, I am much freer than you are or ever will be, even in Enjolras' golden vision of the future Republic. The skeptic is the free man, and no one else."

Grantaire had already been going on for several minutes at this point, but what he had articulated before we gave our attention to this narrative is currently irrelevant. He was seated at a table across from Bossuet, with whom he had been animatedly conversing before the fancy of oration struck him and he began his emphatic ramble. Because of this closeness in proximity added to the closeness of Lesgle's friendship with the drunk man, he noted several things. 

Firstly, the nod which Grantaire gave Enjolras at the first mention. Usually when he was on one of those long-winded orations, he rather tuned out the world and everyone in it. Oh, he was aware of the others, but rarely did he truly look at them. Perhaps it was that he had had less to drink than usual today, as Bossuet had indeed noticed that he had not begun his regular consumption of wine as immediately as was his rule, instead taking a cup of coffee and drinking it throughout their discussion of the apparent virtues that were hidden in Bossuet's trouble with luck. 

As for the next detail Bossuet noticed, first we must explain something about him. His eye for detail was unfathomably scrutinous, not in the way Combeferre's was, who searched for errors in the dictionary and textbooks, nor in the way Jean Prouvaire's was, discovering loveliness in every minute facet of the world. No, Lesgle's attention was consistently drawn to the emotion of things.

He felt that perhaps it came from the frequency of his living with Joly, whose anxieties could often deeply trouble him even when he himself realized they were unreasonable. There were many different tells in reading emotion, Bossuet knew, and they differed from person to person. But on the whole, he knew each of his friends well enough to understand the unspoken in their actions.

There was a tone in Grantaire's voice, a rather familiar tone to any who cared to listen, when he directed his speech to Enjolras. It was admiration, a bit of irony, and, if one was listening very closely and knew him well enough, longing. For what, I hear you ask? For Enjolras. That which we lack attracts us, it has already been said, and Enjolras was the embodiment of all that Grantaire was lacking. 

It was as Grantaire had said: Enjolras was the believer. The hoper of far-flung hopes, reaching beyond tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow's petty pace to find the red world about to dawn that, while a warning, meant cleansing as well. He believed in France as a whole, despite its proving itself more than able to fail on many occasions. He believed in the people, that they would rise and stand -- and fall, likely as not -- for the hopeful future he saw ahead as a vision. On the smaller scale, he believed in his friends, in Les Amis de l'ABC, all those gathered here today, even Marius. All except Grantaire. 

It was exceedingly plain that Enjolras had no belief in Grantaire. Why should he? Grantaire consistently pushed back against the convictions of the group, refuting any and all arguments put to him. On the one hand, it was easy to see why Enjolras would tire of his presence. On the other, Grantaire's points were often valid, and brought new angles of discussion, of philosophy, of the concept of their revolution, to light. Either way, it was painfully true that the one thing the Believer did not believe in, was the one who believed in nothing but him. 

All this being laid out, the reader can likely come to a similar conclusion as the one Bossuet had quickly reached. Grantaire was hurt by Enjolras' harsh treatment of him. 

Lastly, Bossuet realized that there was a lie in Grantaire's words. The skeptic was not the free man, for he was in a prison of his own creation -- a prison of emptiness and the longing which we have already described. Skepticism is not a freedom. Neither is belief. In truth, all men are in a prison until the day their souls ascend to Heaven for eternity. 

All these thoughts ran through Bossuet's mind, though not in the same depth of detail as we have just gone into, in the span thirty-some seconds, during which Grantaire paused, poured himself a glass of wine, and took a long swig. 

Enjolras, practically steaming at the ears in frustration, opened his mouth to make a scathing reply, but before the first syllable was uttered, Bossuet raised a hand and cut in. 

"I don't intend to insert myself where I am not welcome," said he, "But I wish to offer a suggestion to you, Grantaire, and to you, Enjolras." 

Grantaire raised an eyebrow at him over the rim of his glass and gave a faux-deferential wave of his hand. Enjolras, too, looked mildly confused by Bossuet's interference, and a bit annoyed at another interruption, but nodded once in giving Lesgle permission to continue. 

Bossuet looked between the two men, juxtaposed as they were. "I do believe that much greater progress could be made, both in these meetings, as well as progress in the way of relationships, if the two of you would take it upon yourselves to sit and talk civilly." 

Enjolras looked taken aback, as if the concept of actually conversing with Grantaire was entirely foreign to him. Grantaire, on the other hand, had ceased all movement and was staring hard at Bossuet, a look on his face that might have frightened anyone who did not know him. It was shock, it was vitriol, it was fear, all at once. 

"I could be entirely out of my mind -- certainly Joly's dear Musichetta often thinks I am -- but yes..." he paused a moment, vaguely noticing that several of the others seemed to be leaving. "Yes, Enjolras, come over here and we shall the three of us discuss our differences." 

"Ah, Lesgle," Grantaire snorted derisively. "What is there to discuss? We are in direct opposition of one another's ways of life, the chieftain and I. He hates me, wishes me gone. He only puts up with me out of goodwill toward those of you who I have to privilege to call friend." 

When Grantaire spoke of friendship, he spoke genuinely. There was no facade, no rough sarcasm, just a slight sense of true gratitude. 

Enjolras had stood and slowly, almost hesitantly, made his way to Bossuet and Grantaire's table. His brow was still furrowed in that signature frown of his, but something in his manner had softened just slightly. 

"You are mistaken," he said, his words clipped, regulated. "I don't hate you, Grantaire, no matter how you grate on my nerves." 

Slowly, Grantaire's gaze shifted from Bossuet to Enjolras. His manner, usually similar to that of a lounging tomcat -- that is, lazy, flippant, and disrespectful -- changed and became more thoughtful. He watched Enjolras with his eyes a bit narrowed, defensive. 

Enjolras, is his turn, took this look as encouragement to continue speaking. "I may not enjoy your company, but despite the fact that we so fundamentally differ, to say that I _hate _you is mistaken. If I have made it seem that way in the past, I sincerely apologize."__

__He seemed to not enjoy saying the words, but despite the mildly begrudging tone, the apology was genuine._ _

__Grantaire was silent for a while, evidently considering his own next words._ _

__"You've never given me a second thought except out of frustration, yet you care to apologize now that you see that your harshness has been hurtful. A dichotomous being, you are."_ _

__He spoke slowly, thoughtfully, and both Lesgle and Enjolras were somewhat surprised by his level of openness._ _

__Enjolras finally pulled up an extra chair from another table and sat down. By now, most of the rest had filtered slowly out, understanding that the meeting was most likely to be postponed. Only Joly and Jean Prouvaire remained, seated in a corner and whispering hastily back and forth about something or another._ _

__"You are correct," Enjolras said stiffly, "In saying that I have never had the merest shred of belief in you. You have given me no reason to, by the way you speak or act. However, I see now, thanks to our dear Bossuet, that perhaps I have made things worse by my own roughness. You have repeatedly disappointed me, true, but I have been unforgiving in turn." His blue eyes remained cold and aloof, mistrusting, but something in them had softened still. A dichotomous being, indeed._ _

__"I humbly ask your forgiveness."_ _

__"Dear, darling Lesgle," muttered Grantaire. "The unluckiest, yet wise. Yes," he paused. "Yes, I accept your apology. You are entirely genuine in it, as in everything you say or do. I shall not apologize for my own behavior, however. You can no more ask me to change my skepticism, the foundation of myself, than I would wish you to cease personifying justice and hope. The believer -- that is you -- and the unbeliever -- myself -- will remain separated by the gulf of our worldviews. I cannot call you a friend, as much as I would like to. I would not presume such, with the animosity that has been between us for so long. You tried me, once, and I failed you -- at the Barriere du Maine two weeks ago." Here he took another long gulp of his alcohol, and Bossuet thought perhaps it was out of embarrassment, or regret._ _

__"What happened that day?" Enjolras' frown was back now in full force, but with a slight curiosity to it, as if he honestly wanted to understand the other man, so diametrically opposed to him._ _

__Grantaire huffed a breath through his nose and his eyes darkened. "I knew not how to begin. I speak, you are aware, about that which I am passionate about. The depravity of man, history repeats itself and mankind destroy themselves once more. I may not believe this cause will be successful, but the idealism of it, and more importantly the idealism of the man leading it," -he gestured to Enjolras- "Is inspiring even to the most cynical. I say that easily here, now, in this room with people I am familiar with. Bossuet, the bald-head, is quite dear to my heart. I hear Joly behind us, tapping his cane gently against the floor. It means he is pondering something, maybe some ailment he fears he has-" here he broke off and twisted in his seat to spy Joly in the corner. "Jolllly, you are in fine health, be at ease."_ _

__Joly, who had indeed been worrying himself over the possibility of exposure to some new deadly malady, looked up and met his eyes, his face turning from concerned meditation to a small smile._ _

__Turning back, Grantaire continued. "Jehan scratches away at some new verse, you two are sitting here listening to my ramblings. I am in a familiar place with familiar people. I can say whatever it is that I wish, can speak of the hidden hope in my own heart -- even the skeptic may have a bit of idealism shuttered away somewhere -- and the way that hope grows in the presence of our chief. At Ruchefau's, I do not know the people the way I know these. We are mere acquaintances, share similar interests in the arts, that is all. It is vastly more difficult to speak of meaningful things in a group of near-strangers."_ _

__Bossuet knew little about what had taken place at Ruchefau's, only that Grantaire had surprised them all by volunteering to go call the people there to arms, and that Enjolras had been especially cold to him after that day, implying that he had failed in some way or another. From the above explanation, he deduced that Enjolras had gone to check Grantaire's progress and been disappointed by what he found._ _

__Enjolras sat in tense silence. A muscle tensed in his jaw, and he closed his eyes for a long moment before looking up and staring at Grantaire._ _

__"I have misjudged you, Grantaire. I assumed that the alcohol had gone to your brain, or that you meant to spite me. The explanation you offer is legitimate." His brow was furrowed, as if he was seeing the other man through entirely new eyes. "Bossuet is indeed the wisest one here, if he had not made us talk this way, we would have gone on as we were. If I had spent less time looking down my nose at you and more time trying to know you, much more progress could have been made."_ _

__Grantaire nodded, a cautious smile lifting a corner of his mouth. "Tell me, o glorious believer, have you any faith in me now?"_ _

__The phrasing was his typical overdramatic, self-deprecating jest, but the tone of his voice and the look in his eyes was deeper than that, almost imploring._ _

__As Enjolras stood, he kept Grantaire fixed in his gaze. "Perhaps," he murmured. "Perhaps."_ _

__Bossuet also stood, and satisfied with the modicum of reconciliation that had been discovered and the seeds of friendship that perhaps had been sown, glanced across the room at Joly._ _

__"Joly, my dear boy, are you ready to head back to your lodgings? You provided me with your spare key, but it seems that I have misplaced it. I offer only my sincerest apologies."_ _

__Joly gave a short laugh. "No worries, Lesgle, none whatsoever. We shall head home together. Jehan- I bid you a goodnight, and I do wish you would actually sleep. I understand the callings of the night, believe me, I do, but you look tired."_ _

__"He's right, Prouvaire," Enjolras added as he pulled on his overcoat. He still looked deeply thoughtful, preoccupied with the new perspective he seemed to have found, but offered Jehan a smile. "Rest, for we all need to be at full strength if we wish to have any success against the Guard, when we meet at arms at last."_ _

__With this, the rest of the group dispersed to head to their separate lodgings. Enjolras was the last out, as he was tasked with locking up the back room if they remained after hours. As Grantaire passed, he reached out and grabbed his shoulder. The other man turned, raising one eyebrow curiously. Something came across his face, then, and very quietly, he said one word:_ _

__"Friendship?"_ _

__"Perhaps."_ _

__"Will you permit it?"_ _

__Enjolras squeezed his shoulder, the same thoughtful expression written on his features. "Perhaps."_ _

**Author's Note:**

> the style of this was intended to be lowkey Hugo-esque but on rereading it prior to posting, it comes across more like Kate DiCamillo... so that's a thing ig.
> 
> uhhhHHhHHhhhh comments???? any thoughts are more than welcome, I love to hear them!!!


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